Old Habits
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Old habits die hard. SebaCiel.
1. Hunting

**Disclaimer: **Didn't own it then, don't own it now.

**Author's Note: **This is Lessa's fault. When a police car drove by us the other day, she told me it was 'cause of something Sebastian had done. Not only did she lie to me, but she filled my head with plot bunnies! She's the worst. (Just kidding. I love you, Lessa. X3)

**Warnings: **Non-AU. Mild SebaxCiel-ness. I don't think this ficlet gives this idea justice, to be honest, but I really just wanted it out of my head. XD;;;

**XXX  
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**Old Habits  
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XXX**

There was blood.

It caked the worn concrete and had painted the back alley walls. It clumped onto soggy autumn foliage and gummed the sewer grates. It shone like dull rubies on the already-red bricks, bathed in the misty glow of the golden flood lights. And even now, it continued to flow: dribbling over the milky curb and trickling as rain from the hanging fire escapes, falling to a steady, soothing rhythm of _drip… drip… drip…_

The child's breathing matched the cadence.

"…so this is what we do, Sebastian?"

From the center of the scarlet, a black-clad butler turned. Slowly, calmly, like so much oozing life. He smiled angelically at his companion, bowing as he licked his flecked lips.

"This is what _you _do, young master."

The small teen considered this, stuffing delicate hands into Levi jeans. "And why do I do this?"

"Because this man—" he gestured grandly at the mutilated carcass between his spread feet— "killed your family."

"Oh?" The child sneered, amused. Carefully sidestepped another wave of crimson, lest it stain white trainers. "That's funny. Because I distinctly remember my family being alive this morning when I left for school."

Sebastian chuckled, tea-colored eyes blossoming like a rose. "Your other family, young master. Your _old_ family." With a final, elegant trampling, the self-proclaimed demon began a lazy saunter towards his cohort, leaving the corpse to rot.

A snort. "You seriously expect me to believe that I'm the reincarnation of some dead count?"

The devil beamed. "Most definitely, I do. You will soon realize, young master, that I am not like humans; I do not lie. I tell you, you _are_ the Earl of Phantomhive, and I am but your humble servant." A flutter of fingers; a tilt of the head.

Sebastian's audience remained unimpressed. "Alright. Let's pretend, for a moment, that you're telling me the truth. How would you know for certain that I'm this earl you say I am?" the child inquired incredulously, crossing stubborn arms.

The demon grinned again—a long, sharp, toothy leer that nearly split his face in two. "Because I own your soul, my lord. And as such, I am the one who commissioned your reincarnation. A devil has nothing but his aesthetics, remember? A few of the men who you desired revenge upon had families we'd been previously unaware of… One should never leave a job half-done, I like to say. And a contract should never go unfulfilled."

The skeptical stare remained. "I still don't really believe you. The only reason I followed you here is because you promised me a good show."

"And wasn't it?"

"I've seen better on the telly."

The devil smirked, gaze shimmering all the brighter in the wake of his contractor's insolence. As was his wont, he fell into a subservient bow: kneeling in the burgundy pools with a white kid glove pressed to his breast. "I will do better next time, my lord."

A dull, but acknowledging, hum. "And another thing," the child groused, waving a commanding hand; Sebastian understood the gesture, rose, and obediently scooped the adolescent into his arms. These were new clothes, after all... "Why do you keep calling me 'my lord' and 'young master?'"

"Is that a problem, my lord?"

The sapphire-eyed teen glowered in the wake of Sebastian's confusion. "Well, it's fairly obvious that I'm a _girl_."

A double-blink. _…oh, yes._

The demon smiled beguilingly at the annoyed young woman, kissing the coiling tip of a curl of cloud-gray hair. In the twilight distance, police sirens began to scream; her pale skin and round eyes were all the lovelier in the oncoming whirls of blue and red light. Pity they had to leave now— he'd have enjoyed teaching her about the extent of his and his previous master's… 'bond.'

_But then, there's always later. _Garnet-colored eyes glittered with memories, premonitions, and unspoken laughter.

"Forgive me, young mistress," the cooing butler purred, breathing directly into the girl's pinking ear. "Old habits die hard."

**XXX**


	2. Grooming

**Disclaimer: **Didn't own it then, don't own it now.

**Author's Note: **Surprised to see an update? Ironically, so am I. I didn't expect to write more for this. But "A Well Timed Interruption" has inspired me to do more with my own little future!girl!reincarnation-Ciel. Which is saying a lot, to be honest, because I was planning on taking a break from all of these mind-fuck versions of SebaCiel; I keep thinking I should do something canon, for once. Ah well. Can't deny a gnawing plot bunny… C:

**Warnings: **Non-AU. Sebaxfuture!girl!reincarnation-Ciel. Implied SebaCiel. Not my best work ever, but I don't care! :D Also submitted under the Kuroshi_Content's week six prompt, "Future Ciel."

**XXX**

**Old Habits**

**XXX**

She did not like to give.

Certainly, she knew how. She went to preschool, and kindergarten, and had grown up watching children's television on basic cable. She had seen the concept of "sharing" in action on the playground, in the parks. Between her little siblings, as instructed by her mother and father. And indeed, she had been known to let others have their way, once in a while…

Provided she got something in return, of course.

But even then, 'giving' was something she tended to avoid. A foreign concept— one that went against her ingrained principles. Yes, given the choice, she most certainly preferred to _take._

So when the demon appeared before her—debonair, devious, and dripping in black—she took him up on his offer to 'sight see.' When he showed her the body that he'd mutilated (so proudly, so lovingly, so thrilled to say he'd done this _for her_), she took it in stride. Took it as a sign of loyalty, like a gift from a feral cat. When he told her that his name was Sebastian, that he was now her pawn to play with, she took him home with her, never to be shared. And when he mentioned that her incarnation's name had been Ciel… she took that, too, and made it her own.

"It's close enough, anyway. My name in French," she mentioned flippantly, holding out her arms as Sebastian straightened the new nightdress. _Her _new nightdress. Another present from the butler. And what a lovely, delicate nightdress it was: white silk, sheer gauze, embellished with lace trim and a decorative velvet ribbon. Looking at it, she could hardly believe that she'd ever allowed herself to sleep in boxer shorts and a t-shirt; this creation of the devil's was far more her style, exactly what she deserved—aristocratic, posh. Refined. How ever had she managed to survive in this middleclass family apartment without him for all of these years? Well, not that it mattered… her shadow servant made everything much more tolerable, now. "In any case, seeing what it is we do, it'd be safer if I had an alias, yes?"

Sebastian smirked at the comment, synching the nightie's bow beneath the child's budding breasts. "Only those who will get caught need to worry about aliases and the like, young mistress," he corrected, though he seemed amused, nevertheless. "It hardly matters, anyway. After all, it would be the very height of rudeness for a butler to address his lady by anything other than her title."

_Oh. _An excellent point. 'Ciel' regarded her newfound slave with a sidelong flick of sapphire eyes; after a moment, she shrugged and flounced to her makeup table. "You're right, of course," she agreed as she flopped atop her cushioned stool, reaching up to unbind her thick locks. "I suppose you needn't know my real name at _all_ th—"

The girl froze, momentarily distracted, when a warm, clothed hand brushed against her own; from nowhere, Sebastian's reflection appeared behind her in the antique oval mirror.

"Please, young mistress. Allow me," he cooed, gently loosening the band that kept her coal-colored tresses in place. With a hissed sort of rushing, the high ponytail collapsed: untamable curls and damp ringlets blanketed the girl's small shoulders and pale arms, encasing her in a lavender-scented curtain. From a hidden pocket, Sebastian retrieved an ancient horse-hair brush; she could see that its long golden handle had been as intricately gilded as the frame of the vanity's looking glass. In fact, judging by their identically imbued vine designs, it seemed likely that both precious heirlooms had come from the same place… the same person.

With no further prompting, the demon began carefully combing the child's waist-long locks—crown to tip, crown to tip, in sweeping, even strokes. Within moments, her hair began an elegant transformation: morphing from some substance akin to drying hay to luscious waves of opulent silk. Another minute, and a halo-like sheen glistened around her mirror-image's head: a healthy moonstone luster, luxurious and glossy.

And as she watched herself and the butler in the Phantomhive family's old mirror, privately marveling at the demon's obvious skill, she couldn't help but wonder:

"…why are you doing this, Sebastian?" 'Ciel' muttered after a fleeting lapse of silence, thin-lipped and frowning as the disguised devil grinned, still happily maneuvering his brush.

"That is a silly question, young mistress," Sebastian returned amiably, allowing a lightly looping lock of hair to shift between his gloved fingers. The soft texture of the kitten-gray mane seemed to please him. "You know very well that if I don't brush it before bed, your hair will be terribly matted in the morning."

The girl's face scrunched into an unattractive scowl. "Don't be _cute_, Sebastian," she snapped, crossing one lithe leg over the other and straightening her back: a queen upon her throne. The familiar posture added sharp teeth to the demon's subservient grin. "That's not at all what I'm asking, and you know it. I want to know why you're here, playacting my slave. You say that I am an Earl, and that you are my butler, but I never made a contract with you. Reincarnation or no reincarnation, this soul is _mine_ now—and I will not be giving it back to you."

The brush paused mid-way down her back; in the icy glass, inhuman eyes of old sin and congealed blood glittered like garnets.

She simply stared back—immovable, stubborn, and every last bit as greedy as the devil.

And her obstinacy, in turn, added flickers of laughter to those lifeless scarlet eyes; the pale, perfect face was illuminated with delight and black humor. "You won't? Why ever not?" Sebastian wheedled, discarding the brush in favor of his spidery hands; long, demanding digits wriggled along her scalp in a parody of affectionate petting. Mockery. To her, the pale fingers looked more like squirming worms in a world of monochrome; they left a feeling of anxiety in their wake, violation and heat. As if she had been buried beneath layers of dirt, trapped in grave soil…

The sensation was a disturbingly familiar one.

But she ignored the nauseating notion, and covered her discomfort with a huff of derision. "Because I rather like my spirit where it is," she retorted, batting his hands away from her skull. Dislodged, they instead began creepy-crawling their way down her bare throat and exposed shoulders, leaving spider-webbed trails of fire in their wake. "I don't plan on giving it to God or Satan or anyone else. Why on earth should I give it, then, to you? You came to me on your _own_—don't expect me to give retrospective compensation. Especially if the price is something as horrid as the extraction and sacrifice of my _soul_."

Bitterness lingered palpably in the air— a pleasure, a _treat_ for a demon. Sebastian chuckled huskily, his voice a sticky entrapment: cloying, sultry, and smooth, like so much heated caramel. "Now, now, young mistress," he crooned, tipping close enough to breathe into the nape of the girl's pinking neck. And yes, though her acidic aura was delectable indeed, it hardly compared to the perfume of her flesh: sweet rot, spiritual decay… gradual decomposition. As if Ciel's lingering resentment had been reborn within this child, as well: had festered as the centuries had passed. Yet, concurrently, the latent cruelty in this girl's soul was purer— _far_ purer— than Ciel's had ever been… for it was the direct result of Nothing At All. It had simply always been. The thought made Sebastian purr… "It is both judgmental and highly unattractive to assume that you know about something that you've never once experienced. How do _you_ know that giving your soul away is so unpleasant?"

"How do you know it's _not_?" she countered curtly, crossing her arms and legs more tightly around herself as the butler's hands began to search… up and down, left and right, over planes of flesh both wholly alien, yet strangely familiar. "_You've_ never given _your_ soul away."

So _feisty_. "Touché," the devil acknowledged, a chortle of pleasure coloring his low, velvet tone. "Well, then, how about this: I will show you how I take one's soul. Just a demonstration of the basic process—never fear, I won't harm you in the slightest. And if you deem it in any way distasteful, young mistress, I will stop immediately and never bring it up again."

The girl considered this proposition, watching Sebastian's sugar-spun smile lengthen in her looking glass. And _no,_ she _wasn't_ scared by the too-wide, too-kind simper… To prove it, she snorted and whipped her head around, challenge in her authoritative, half-hooded gaze.

"Fine, then," she decreed, bouncing an impatient foot. "But this had better not be a waste of my time."

A claret supernova, ethereal and haunting. "I will make sure that it isn't, my lady…" Sebastian promised with a bow— and this time, he did not _stop_ bowing: tilting forward, nose brushing nose, closer and closer until his mouth had covered her own: the taste of temptation and hellfire upon his lips. Fetid apples, sandalwood, chrysanthemum. The child's cobalt eyes snapped open, shock in their navy depths— even as her own lips parted to allow him access. The tip of a teasing tongue tickled, tugged… a serpent's invitation. It would be rude not to reply.

A gasp; a beat; a different battle of Eden ensued: nails against his neck, air caught in her lungs, liquid fire burning through her veins as the demon twisted the girl around, all but slamming her into the frosted edge of her vanity. Midnight-coated arms twined like animated silhouettes: through sheets of gray curls, around a thin, frail waist… Tip-toeing fingers forged a dangerous path upward, beneath the flower of her gown.

Again, so extraordinarily familiar. Déjà vu, nostalgia— the touch of ghosts joined the caressing flesh, forming half-remembered daydreams that coagulate in the back of her mind. The fall of an eye patch, the sear of a brand… In the midst of this bizarre passion, 'Ciel' could feel her heart rate race erratically; her chest thrummed, tightening, as if suddenly three-sizes-too-small… as if something wanted _out_…

With no further warning, Sebastian broke their entangled embrace: jerking back—dipping in—and pulling away once more, leaving the girl with nothing but a shortage of oxygen and a memorializing kiss blazing upon her ruddy cheek.

The demon (laughing) leered.

The child (winded) glowered.

"…that's all?" she then scoffed, pealing her dissatisfied hands from Sebastian's broad shoulders. He straightened, the faintest glimmer of surprise within his eyes. "You _kiss_ someone to death? Please. What a crock… I want to give you my soul even _less_, now."

The girl spun around on her chair, re-facing the mirror— brandishing her arm. On instinct alone, the devil reached out to support the extended appendage: dipping low to touch heated lips against the back of her palm. In that moment, dark lashes quivered with realization; his clever mind caught up with his body. Understanding her desire, Sebastian began to pepper the long limb with butterfly kisses, slipping fluidly up the length of her porcelain skin. The child managed to swallow a moan, but couldn't suppress her shudder.

"If not your soul, then, young mistress…" the devil whispered, breathing all the heat of damnation into her goose-pimpled flesh, "…how about 'something else?'"

_Something else._

'Ciel' knew where this was going. Had known before the avaricious fingers found the front of her moist panties; before the gloved hand had coyly slipped up the skirt of her nightie; before she had gone and offered him her hand in the first place… She knew, because this was all her plan. Her will. Her game. And she knew that he knew this: knew what she sought, knew what she'd intended, knew what she was offering to pay. For while the girl didn't like to give, she didn't mind a little sacrifice to get what she wanted.

No, she didn't give the butler her virginity.

She forced him to take it.

**XXX**


	3. Fighting

**Disclaimer: **Didn't own it then, don't own it now.

**Author's Note: **For some reason, plot bunnies for this fic keep popping into my head one chapter at a time. I'll be interested to see where this goes, if that remains the case…

**Warnings: **Non-AU. SebaCiel, Sebaxfuture!girl!reincarnation-Ciel. And yes, I hate her for this, too.

**XXX  
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**Old Habits**

**  
XXX**

Sebastian was a demon: ancient, omnipotent, and malicious. He understood (to the point of exploitation) the way human's puny minds worked, how their twisted emotions weakened them. And while he wore a mask of servitude, it did not take long for any 'master' to realize who was truly in control of their relationship. As such, his tamers rarely caught him off-guard.

She, like her incarnation, was the exception.

But he was no longer certain that was a good thing.

"What did you say, young mistress…?"

The fifteen-year old smirked, even as she continued to play with her compact. "You heard me the first time," she chastised, fluttering her lengthened lashes as a tube of mascara was returned to her purse. "Now, kill that wretched thing." Perched atop the moldering barricade, the young girl flashed her devil a cloying leer; one long leg crossed over the other, tightly wrapped in a layer of synthetic leather. The material squeaked, her makeup mirror snapped shut; like the mascara (and the lip gloss before it), the scarlet disk disappeared into the depths of her handbag.

With no toys to distract her, her eyes soon locked with Sebastian's.

The demon's lower lip twitched. "If I might be so bold as to ask why…?" he quietly pressed, in a gentle cadence that only served to exemplify his obvious anger.

Her taunting smile darkened, cold as grave soil; bright navy eyes flashed like midnight flames. "Because you should have time for no one but your mistress, Sebastian," she whispered, and the words hung in the air like sticky tendrils—spider silk, or coils of black molasses. Ensnaring. "Your only loyalty should be to your owner."

Pupils narrowed, irises flushed; auburn seeds blossomed into blood-red roses. "My lady, you know I cannot lie," the butler murmured, kneeling before his mistress's make-shift bench. "I would never betray you, or—"

"Then why did you not obey?" she countered frostily, ripping her foot away when Sebastian moved to touch it. She was never one to be easily distracted. "I told you to kill it, and what did you do? You defied my order. You hesitated. Worse still, you _questioned_. And why? Simply because that _thing_ continues to exist. Your behavior has only served to further prove my point."

For a full minute, the devil said nothing. He remained in the grime, knees bent but back straight, as his wandering eyes drifted to the bundle of gray fur cradled in the crook of his elbow. Cozy and content, the small kitten seemed to beam up at him, trust and blind affection in its sky-blue eyes.

And as a demon, Sebastian knew that he should feel nothing for the creature. For _any_ creature— no matter the circumstance. He should care for nothing but himself, nothing but souls; should have crushed the cat's delicate skull a month ago, when he first found it in the alley…

But instead, he had nurtured the sickly thing. Had shown it affection. Why? Was it only because of his penchant for cats? Did it have something to do with those helpless sapphire eyes? It made no sense… Or at least, it made as little sense as agreeing to a strange, pseudo-contract without any sort of victuals compensation. And why? From the start, that soul had rightfully belonged to _him_… yet he had commissioned its untimely return, and had even gone so far as to give it free will. _Why_? What was _wrong_ with him?

Two sets of azures eyes were watching, waiting. He could not stall forever. Nor did he wish to know what awaited him at the end of that line of thought.

"My keeping a pet has never been a problem before," Sebastian eventually countered, the retort curt and oddly distant. "My young master, for instance, never c—"

The adolescent snarled, feral and low.

And no, it was not often that someone managed to catch the devil caught off-guard. Perhaps it had something to do with hubris, or some strange assumption that no human could possibly be That Cruel. But as always, his mistress surprised him: with a swipe of her booted foot, the demon's elbow was forced into a contortion. The baby cat flew, yowled, and met the distant concrete— making a snapping sound just like her plastic compact.

"Young mis—!"

The girl stood, looming over her startled servant as her expression distorted in disgust.

"…you said once," she then breathed, using the very tip of a painted nail to force the demon's chin back towards her, "that it does not matter what my name is, for a slave should only ever call his mistress by her title. At the time I agreed, assuming you to be some sort of mindless pawn. But now I think you have an ulterior motive in only ever referring to me by my status… for if you never use my name, you never have to acknowledge me as an individual. You never have to see _me. _You can continue to look past my present form and see your precious 'young master.'"

Her painted lips curled backwards, revealing grit teeth; manicured talons bit into his skin. And for the briefest of instants, as he stared into her swirling eyes— eyes that contain no sympathy (no _humanity_)— Sebastian wondered just what he had unleashed that autumn night three years ago.

His shifting expression made the girl sneer.

"Finally putting it together, are we, love?" she sang, sugar-sweet and _mocking_ as she stared down her nose at the devil. "I am _not_ Ciel Phantomhive. My name is Skye… and I will make sure that you always remember it."

A giggle, a nip, a butterfly kiss; Skye released the demon with a hiss of laughter, shoving him backwards and towards the wheezing mound of fur.

Without another word, Sebastian stood. Bowed. Slid silently to the broken kitten's side, watching as the poor thing panted and seized, trembling in excruciating pain. All the same, the dying animal noticed the sudden shadow above him; a glassy eye managed to focus, if only for a moment. And again (as always, when the butler was near) the small thing seemed to smile… even managed a feeble purr of recognition, trying to wriggle closer to the only caretaker he'd ever known.

The devil lifted a foot…

"…no," Sebastian whispered, fully concurrent, as he slowly closed his eyes. "You are not Ciel."

_Crunch._

And he wasn't sure how he felt about that, anymore.

**XXX**


	4. Bleeding

**Disclaimer: **I don't even _want_ to own Skye…

**Author's Note: **Things are only going to get weirder from here, I'm afraid.

**Warnings: **Non-AU. SebaCiel, SebaxSkye.

**XXX  
**

**Old Habits**

**XXX**

_Well, now. You're certainly a harlot, aren't you?_

A pause. Long lashes fluttered in amusement, though the alabaster face remained impassive. Cerulean eyes narrowed. And as the droned inquiry faded into an electric silence, the sound of shifting tresses took its place; a gilded comb returned to forging lambent paths through waves of glossy moonstone.

"My my," Skye breathed as she brushed, the faintest hint of a smile toying with the corners of her pursed lips, "that was rather rude. If anyone else were to have called me such a thing, I might have taken offence."

_You mean that _didn't_ offend you?_ the visitor clarified, chin falling to rest upon neatly folded hands. _Well, perhaps the second time's the charm, you miserable guttersnipe. _

But the heartfelt insult fell upon deaf ears; Skye merely giggled, a tinkling sound like wind through icicles. "Sticks and stones, my dear," she sang, delicate wrist flicking up and down, up and down, as ivory tines worked through coal curls. "Regardless, nothing that might come from your mouth could faze me. I realize that you're just venting. It must be difficult to look upon me, after all… like seeing yourself reflected in a mirror."

The cruel jibe cut through the air like a knife. Skye snickered all the more obnoxiously as her companion scowled, fingers curling into a single, furious fist.

_I would never sink to the lows that you have_, the other spat, disgust poisoning the tip of his tongue, hissing and bubbling like verbal acid. Yet the girl simply snorted, rolling her eyes and her shoulders in tandem.

"Really?" she pressed, visibly bored, as the one before her seethed. "I've heard otherwise. Something about all fours and a weekend with your butler in Bath? 'Woof woof,' went the Queen's guard dog..."

Two pairs of vivid blue eyes met, snapped, locked— as cold as the winter winds that whipped through the braches beyond the window. Despite themselves, both were quietly impressed: she, by his lack of embarrassment; he, by her absence of fear. And on that note…

…_you hardly seem surprised to see me,_ he commented wryly, stiff posture relaxing as he resumed his regal lounge: svelte legs crossed and pretty face vacant in the glittering world of glass.

Skye's frosted lips curved into a folsom smile, lashes half-lowering in knowing condescendence. "What with everything else that's happened to me? Please," she scoffed, abandoning her comb in favor of her fingers. With deft twists and tugs, she began to braid her lengthy locks into a single, thick rope. "To be completely honest, I've been expecting you, my dear Earl of Phantomhive."

_Oh? Have you, now? _ In the framed kingdom of the vanity, a boy clad in stately blue-velvet chortled. His name, she knew, was Ciel Phantomhive… and as Ciel Phantomhive hummed, his mouth contorted into a bitter smirk to rival her own. The silver embellishing on his laced cuffs caught the light when he rolled his hand, offering a scornful half-bow. _A pleasure, then._

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine," Skye purred, gaze sharpening into cobalt daggers as she and her reflection stared, stared, stared—sizing each other up from opposite (realms) sides of the mirror. "I'm rather lucky Sebastian is out at the moment, though. If he were here, he'd be certain to make me curtsy."

Ciel's fragile mask of black humor vanished. _If Sebastian were here, _he corrected coldly,_ you wouldn't be seeing me at all._

Oo, how cryptic. "Really, now?" the girl enthused conversationally, dropping her chin into her palm with mockingly wide-eyed, innocuous eagerness. "Would that explain why it took you so long to visit me? Were you always busy with him?" She tilted her head innocently to the left, looking for all the world like a life-sized china doll.

Ciel was not charmed. _It's none of your concern_, he curtly returned. In the refracted palace, he'd rearranged his tiny throne; he was looking upon Skye straight-on, like a businessman cutting a deal._ All that matters is that you leave Sebastian alone. _

"…what?"

At this, Skye could hardly keep her composure; the ambience created by her incarnation and his solemn command shattered with the sound of explosive hysterics. "You can't be serious!" she choked, tears of mirth welling in the corners of her ice-chip eyes. "Why on _earth_ would I do that? He belongs to me, now, silly earl." She leaned all the closer to the cool surface of the glass, gaze glittering like shattered shards of crystal.

The teenaged lord crinkled his nose in distaste, as if he could smell her gardenia perfume through the reflective barrier. _He's _mine_, _he reiterated, but for all of the authority in his voice, he still sounded to Skye like a petulant child. (Of course, it took one to know one…)

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, _Ciel_," the young woman sneered, lifting a hand to her corpulent bosom. "He may be bound to your soul, but your soul is now _mine_. That makes _both_ of you my playthings." The fingers that drifted over the flesh of her clavicle clenched in emphasis—

But the boy-earl simply grinned, canines flashing as if in feral warning.

Skye blinked, taken aback.

_That's what you'd like to think, isn't it, little princess? _Ciel taunted, hiding his chuckles and languid-cat smile behind a demurely lifted hand, his lily-white skin encased within a glove of black leather. _You'd like to think that you're in charge. You'd like to think that you control me. You'd like to think that he loves you. But you know, don't you? _

The taunt lingered, simpering and sickening-sweet, in the rapidly cooling rose-scented air. "Don't you dare s—" Skye began, voice soft and scalpel-sharp, but Ciel had no reason to fear, and so continued blithely on.

_You know that, no matter what you do, all he sees is _me. The smaller child leered, self-assured and confident and oh-so-beautiful… Skye's painted nails dug into clammy palms, calling forth budding pinpricks of crimson.

"Shut up."

_It's not surprisingly, really,_ Ciel persisted, a haughty chuckle falling from his lovely lips— pink like satin petals— and his deep navy irises glimmered like the heart of the ocean, putting her sapphires to shame. _I am the only human he's _ever _had feelings for. And you, as even _you _have now acknowledged, are not me._

"I am enough of you," Skye snarled, tubes of gloss and packets of color clattering together as angry hands jittered atop the cherry-wood vanity. "I am the rebirth of your _soul_."

_Are you? _the boy questioned lightly, sarcastically coy. _Then what am I doing over here? _

She had no answer for that.

_I'm afraid there's been a bit of confusion,_ Ciel mused aloud, grinning down his nose at the increasingly irate girl, _in regards to the composition of your immortal soul. Though I suppose I can't blame you for your ignorance—even Sebastian has yet to realize what is going on. But when he does, what will happen to you, I wonder?_

Heaving shoulders froze. Slowly, as if some kind of wind-up toy, the gears in Skye's neck lifted her bone-white face—now blotched red with growing fury. Even her eyes, black-azure as they were, had been tainted with the furious rage of a poorly-masked inferno… "What do you mean?" she growled, the words forced dourly through grit and grinding molars.

Ciel took the liberty to don an expression of superior smugness. With a self-satisfied wriggle, he sank deeper into his chair; he regarded his reincarnation with a lazy perusal of the eyes, relaxing his cheek against the back of his hand. _Face it, little girl,_ he then cooed, his gentle tenor at odds with the cruelty of his retort. _You're no one. You're nothing. You're just a passing shadow, a doll that my idiot butler clings to in my absence. And someday, he's going to realize that no doll, however pretty, can replace the real thing. He won't need you anymore. _Warped pleasure colored the round of his cheeks, and twisted delight tainted the lilt of his tone. He leaned forward an inch, his visage reflecting in the wide whites of Skye's eyes… _Who knows what he'll do to you then? _

For a full minute, the threat hung like an antique guillotine, suspended by the single thread of a spider. And the girl's neck lay ready, fully exposed, draped like her hair across the expanse of her makeup table. It was like a game, a good joke… Accordingly, someone startled to giggle. Wet and crazed, the amusement burbled upward, forward, unable to be swallowed; in its fervor, it forced distorted whispers into the raging oral river: curses further muffled by the clunk-clatter of plastic and brushes, of bare feet on lacquered wood.

The boy cocked an eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden proximity of Skye's looming face, now darkened with crazed hatred. _I beg your pardon. Did you say something?_ he nevertheless asked politely, even as her trembling hands curled about the frame of his mirror, shaking it roughly. Her glossed lips parted in a sickle-smooth sneer.

"I _said_, he won't do _anything_, you twat!" she barked, laughter gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Black-tipped nails dug into the vinery designs of the glass frame… "Nothing! Because in case you've forgotten, my dear earl, you are _dead. _And no matter how much your _precious demon_ may miss you, he realizes that it's better to hold a pretty doll at night than nothing at all. I am alive! I am flesh and blood! You exist nowhere but in my reflection…"

—with a lunacy-kissed beam, Skye lifted her gold-gilded hairbrush—

"…and vanity mirrors are so fragile, these days."

The passing of five minutes found the young woman engrossed in brow-furrowing contemplation, lips lightly pressed to a gushing gash on the curve of her wrist. She sat, cross-legged, amidst a galaxy of twinkling star shards, their refracted light almost blinding in the confines of her glowing bedroom. But slowly, the world was dimming; thick ruby pearls tumbled from her hand to the lap of her nightdress, soiling the virgin cloth. And as she watched, the scarlet stains spread, farther and farther, white and red mixing…

Mixing…

_Mixing._

"Young mistress?!"

Hazy, gaze dulling, Skye glanced lazily upward; Sebastian had appeared in the doorway, arms full of new toys and eyes full of alarm. The machetes she'd asked for fell upon the carpet with a muted clang; her new compact and sweater set joined the weaponry within seconds. "Young mistress!" the demon said again, trampling over the shattered pieces of (_Ciel_) mirror without a second thought. Skye's stained mouth quirked into a smirk.

"Don't touch me, Sebastian," she rasped, jerking away when the butler tried to snag her wrist. Somehow, he'd already managed to procure fresh gauze… "I'm thinking."

"This is no time to act like a fool, young mistress," Sebastian snapped, kneeling before her and grinding the silvery shavings to dust. The smirk widened… "You're clearly delusional—moments away from fainting. This mess is large enough without adding your unconscious body to it."

"Don't be so overdramatic," Skye snorted, straightening in place. "I'm perfectly alright. You see?"

And with a quick flick of a network of joints, her bloodied wrist had twisted his way— small, fragile, and trembling, but for all the crust and rust and flakes, undamaged. There was no wound to be found.

Faintly bewildered, Sebastian scrutinized the pristine plane of porcelain flesh for thirty whole seconds before turning his bemused stare upon his charge. "What happened, then?" he demanded softly, an expression of unease overtaking his inhumanly handsome features. "That blood is most definitely yours, and yet…"

"I was… having a spirited conversation," Skye returned vaguely, though not without a touch of humor. She rotated her wrist around again, staring at the dirtied blanket of skin, and flexing her fingers as if in experiment. She seemed pleased. At least, her eyes were glittering once more: bloody midnight with dark and dawning realization.

Without another word, her lips found her uninjured pulse point… and she wore the smile of a secret-keeper as she kissed the invisible wound.

**XXX**


	5. Surprising

**Disclaimer: **I own Skye. That's about it.

**Author's Note: **Prepare for more ambiguity! (Everyone's favorite, I know.)

**Warnings: **Non-AU. SebaCiel, SebaxSkye. Also, Stuff is Going Down. So if people seem OOC, there is a reason for it. Promise.

**XXX**

**Old Habits**

**XXX**

There was a flavor lingering on the back of his tongue... rich, familiar, and gradually driving him insane.

That had to be it. It was the only explanation. That taste was doing something to his brain; rearranging it, or realigning it, or reeducating it. Or something. Something strange—something bad. But what, he wasn't entirely sure. One moment, the world was as it had always been: he was Sebastian, the butler, polishing the sapphire token he'd kept stowed away in his pocket for (far too many) years—the next, his mistress was there, singing her usual chorus of simpering demands, and that flavor would flare somewhere between his mouth and his throat. His head would pound, his limbs would ache, and the world he knew would flip upside-down and inside-out, serenaded by the teen's tinkled laughter.

And there was black.

It was not the first time that her presence had temporarily eradicated his own self-awareness, nor would it be the last. But still, it was difficult to tell how often this phenomenon occurred. He seemed to lose time whenever his mind became fuzzy, his body creaked with exertion, his mouth watered as half-remembered spices became unbearably strong— 'til he was all but tortured by the dewdrop remnants of ambrosia…

It was during one such occasion—when the mistresses' giggles resounded in his ears, and the succulent sweetness was alive in his mouth, and his entire body felt somehow foreign to him—that primal instinct was reawakened within his chest. Skye's titters were interrupted by a snarl and the sound of flesh on flesh; the screech of bedsprings rang like gunshots through the shadowed room.

_Squeaksqueaksqueak—squeaksqueak— squeak squeak… squeak… squeak…_

Trapped between spread knees, pale fingers decorating her throat, lying prostrate and victimized like some sort of Catholic martyr (the shadow of window panes so enhanced the illusion, even as the gloom masked her pretty porcelain features), the young woman stared up at her panting, confused, and infuriated demon, as if he were some sort of frightened animal.

Which he was.

And the calmness with which she regarded her potential murderer simply added fuel to the fire in Sebastian's ember eyes. His hands trembled, tendons quivering; each muscle physically _itched_ to contract, or loosen, or… or…

Or?

Skye sighed, rolling her own eyes as the silent minutes dragged, neither impressed nor frightened by the predator hanging above her. Rather, there was a smirk tugging on the corners of her lips—a chuckle worming its way into the oncoming night… writhing beneath the surface of her smile like so many maggots in a corpse.

"Oh, Sebastian," she sighed airily, visibly amused by the distress on the devil's pale face. "Don't act like a child—it's entirely unattractive. If you want your little ring back, you could always just _ask_ me… but let's be reasonable; _I'm_ the mistress here, aren't I? You should have no problem gifting me with all that you have. So stop pretending you're some sort of threat—we both know you can't kill me."

This, more than anything else (the abruptness of his movements, the oddities of this predicament, the alien sensations bombarding this borrowed form), made Sebastian pause. The certainty in her voice, the mockery in her tone… His brow furrowed, eyeteeth flashing as he growled, feral and low. "You're speaking nonsense, I'm afraid," the butler snapped, though even he could hear the _question _in his threat. _Was_ it nonsense…? "Of course I can kill you."

"You most certainly cannot," Skye rebutted casually, wrapping her own hands around his shuddering wrists. The contact made him jump, as if pricked by invisible needles—or shocked by static sparks. His arms felt momentarily numb… "You can neither harm nor kill me, because you are still in love with Ciel."

Her wicked grin widened as Sebastian's hold fell away. A ruby gaze flashed with alarm; Skye propped herself up on her elbows, cocking her head to the left. Silken waves of moonstone hair glistened like glass in the mauve glow of sunset. "Don't think I haven't realized it, love," she purred, voice soft and (scornfully) sweet as Sebastian stared, stared, stared… "No matter how horrible I am, no matter how terribly I may treat you, you can never forget that— deep inside— I harbor his soul. He keeps me safe. He makes you mine."

_Mine._ The word echoed in his ears; his tongue _burned_ as the flavor sizzled atop the red muscle. The pain broke through his astonishment—he was soon directing a contemptuous sneer at his captured quarry.

"What drivel are you spouting?" Sebastian scoffed, words catching on the lilt of a condescending chortle. "You have no protection. Surely I did not forget to mention that _I_ am the one who killed my previous contractor?" A sharpened nail slithered up and down the faint blue bulge of Skye's pulsing jugular, leaving the pastel planes flesh a rosy shade of pink… "I had no problem killing the original. Why should a _copy_ give me any trouble?"

Her reply was more than he'd bargained for.

Teeth grit. Jaw tightened. The meandering river of azure blood _surged._ And within the dusk of sunset, twin sapphires became solar flares— scarlet rage boiling in the heated depths of the piercing gaze, like magma beneath the sea. In that instant, Sebastian's petting finger froze; a fragile fist grabbed hold of the taunting digit, squeezing it with far more vigor than the demon had known a child was capable of. It was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

"Rubbish," Skye hissed, and her grip tightened in emphasis. Her anger was wholly evident… but all the while, she wore an angel's smile; her lips reached for her ears as she forcefully pealed her butler's finger away from her neck. He didn't have the strength of will (of body?) to even try and stop her. "You didn't kill him. You simply put him to sleep for a while."

The devil's gaze narrowed. "…what do you mean?" he demanded, expression darkening.

But his vengeful countenance struck no fear into the heart(less) teenager beneath him. Rather, Skye had returned to spouting trills of tinny-chime laughter, using the tips of her manicured fingers to bat her butler aside. He fell backwards, setting her free…

"Honestly, you can't possibly be that stupid," Skye snorted, flicking her wrist with a dismissive finality. Recollecting herself atop the rumpled blankets of the bed, the girl straightened her nightdress and tossed her glossy locks, gracing the devil with a knowing sort of leer. Or maybe she was just enjoying the look of utter perplexity upon the once-omnipotent creature's face. Either way, she eventually relented with a: "Fine, I'll put things in small words for you."

Pointed incisors glistened, pearly-white, from within the ebony gash of her sickle-moon mouth. A cheerful hum; invisible motes of dust were brushed from her bedclothes. "Death implies finality. You may have 'killed' poor Ciel, long ago, but you didn't leave him to rot. Instead, you took 'waffling' to a new level—you found a loophole in the contract, didn't you? You brought him back to life." Gauzy layers of opalescent silk and peek-a-boo lace rustled against warm flesh; Skye lifted herself to her knees, fingers tracing her veiled curves, every _inch_ the alabaster beauty of mankind's most sinful dream. Coral lips leered; cobalt irises glittered; ocean waves of blue-gray hair hung in heavy coils and curls down the long expanse of her back. She smelt of white chrysanthemum, of poppies in full bloom… and the scent became stronger, an opiate of the senses, as she leaned lazily closer, crawling forward on her hands and knees. "You brought _me_ to life."

Sebastian said nothing.

Skye beamed, innocent and beautiful. "Now, tell me, honestly," she cooed, ever the actress—suggestive and coy. Her fingers pawed the slick coverlets, and she leisurely wagged her bottom as she sauntered slowly forward. "Do you _truly_ expect me to believe that you'd do me real harm, when I know how far out-of-the-way you went to _create_ me?"

She paused before her demon, rearing up and planting both hands upon his shoulders. Her parted thighs slipped over his own, and she moaned appreciatively into the bitter hush.

"Poor baby," she sighed, giggles in her pseudo grief, as polished nails dug deep into swathes of midnight fabric. "I know how you must resent me. And to be honest, pet, I don't blame you for your hostility. Not at all. It must be very disconcerting, I realize that…"

Her hips dipped, dragged, popped back up; Sebastian instinctively seized her waist, ungloved fingers grinding and bruising and steadying, even as slit eyes bored holes into his mistresses' wanton face. "What are you _talking_ about?" he questioned, but the harsh insistence of the declaration was weakened by the murmur of bewilderment that lurked within the hoarse inquiry. "_What_ must be disconcerting?"

Skye was unfazed. Skye was unmoved. Skye was as enigmatic as always, grinning like a jackal as she tore apart her prey. "Why, my knowing your Deep Dark Secret, of course," she returned, warping her sharp features into a mask of pouty-lipped lamentation. But all the while, her stare cut down, down, down, like the strongest diamond dagger… "Of course, you shouldn't be ashamed, my dear. Every creature on Earth can be manipulated, after all; every being in the world has a weakness. And all of the turmoil that you've recently endured, all of the anger and confusion that you've felt upon seeing me, stems from your inability to know how to deal with someone who has discovered your soft spot: Ciel Phantomhive."

The words rang half-hollow.

Yet, the implications were half-true. A paradox. An irony. Like one of those stupid mortal brain teasers, Skye's declaration was both right and wrong—he knew this, was certain of this, but couldn't quite grasp the answer to the ultimate puzzle. What was false? What was correct? What…? What…

"…what _are_ you?" Sebastian whispered, voice broken and wondering as he spoke aloud the query that had been festering in his subconscious for far-longer than he cared to admit. Rhetorical. (Was there an answer?) Literal. (Did he _want_ an answer?) Who could say? Who could know? Not that it mattered, now— there was no taking back words that had already been uttered… (a contract that had already been made.)

In response, the girl gave Sebastian a delicate shove; he topped backwards, jarred by mattress springs and confined by the prison of her skinny limbs. Within minutes, their roles had reversed. And now Skye was musing noisily, pondering her butler's accidental question as she settled herself within the cradle of his hips.

"What am I…?"

Heat. _Heat_. Up, down, inside out— black and white and blue, red, blue. His mouth was _aflame_…

"Who knows?" The young mistress was crooning in his ear, lowering herself atop the taut flesh of the devil's chest. Her fingers toyed with his silver buttons, the knot of his tie… the antique broach that marked where his heart would be, if he had one. (Be? Is? If? There was a tremble beneath his breastbone, unfamiliar and unwanted. Erratic. Weak. What magic was this…?) "But perhaps I have more than just _Ciel_ inside of me."

Her sultry snigger was swallowed by his lips; the smell of fetid chrysanthemum filled Sebastian's nostrils.

There was a flavor lingering on the back of his tongue...

It tasted like his young master.

**XXX**


	6. Mixing

**Disclaimer: **I own Skye. (…anyone want her?)

**Author's Note: **Originally, this fic was going to be four more chapters long. However, they would have been fairly short chapters, which I decided was lame. So I condensed events; there will now be two (maybe three) chapters 'til the end, _including_ this one. (At least, that's the current plan. It could always change again, I suppose. XD;)

In any case, thank you, Toboso-sensei, for scripting that horribly depressing Sebastian-alone-in-the-snow scene. It really rejuvenated my muse for this chapter. X3

**Warnings: **Non-AU. SebaCiel, SebaxSkye. WTFery. OOCness THAT WILL BE EXPLAINED. (Actually, some stuff finally _is_ explained… but it's still probably confusing.) Oh, yes— and a _**CLIFFHANGER! **_(So no, this is not the end… though I gotta say, I feel bad about posting this after chapter 41. XD;;;)

**XXX  
**

**Old Habits**

**  
XXX**

The world was a crimson globe, bubbled precariously on the tip of her finger.

_I suppose it's true what they say. All creatures bleed red—even the lowest of the low. _

The quip goaded. Skye smirked. And with lethargic interest, she cushioned her cheek in the palm of her free hand, lazy gaze glinting with dark interested as she turned the infinitesimal injury this way and that, allowing the pearl of blood to glimmer like a garnet in the lamplight. It swayed and quivered, but never did the claret bead burst.

"So it would seem," she then murmured in reply, the words a fluting whisper that caught Sebastian by surprise. In the reflection of her vanity, Skye could see the butler open his mouth to speak—perhaps ask if she was addressing him—but silenced himself within moments. Rather than pose a verbal question, he instead allowed his impassive face to warp in a show of reservation: his pale brow furrowed, his thin lips pursed… but the expression went ignored, for it was not an unusual sight, nowadays. As his mistress had grown in conviction, he had become noticeably jumpier, warier. Yet, if there was a specific reason for his cagey discomfort, he had never mentioned it… possibly because he'd been unable to label the cause, himself. And so, with a final glance across the room (auburn eyes darting suspiciously left and right, always lingering one-second-too-long on the ring that adorned her thumb), he closed his mouth and lowered his head, returning to his vigilant duties as guard.

Skye paid him little mind—there were far more interesting things to look at in the mirror. Things which looked back. And in fact, one such 'thing' was doing just that: in the center of the framed bedroom, draped in his usual lavish blue finery, stood a calm and transparent gentle-child, his cold eyes bright with cruel amusement.

_Hello again, Lady Skye_, the boy greeted, rolling his wrist and bowing at the waist. _Worried that your shriveled heart is no longer working as it should? _

Five gloved fingers lifted, extended, curled— a wave that formed a fist, black leather moaning in soft resistance— and Ciel Phantomhive rested his delicate chin upon it, offering a pretty smile. Canines flashed white; his face soon followed. With an electromagnetic buzzing like that of short-circuiting neurons, his entire body flickered. And for a moment he was just as ethereal as any other spirit.

Was that happening more frequently, lately…?

"At least mine is still beating," Skye retorted in a drawl, tilting her wounded digit left and right, back and fore, to a steady, rocking rhythm. She made a point of refusing to visually acknowledge either man (though, technically, she supposed that neither could be classified as such); behind her, Sebastian arched an eyebrow, bewildered by his mistress's seemingly mindless chatter. But the girl pressed on, regardless— "One of the perks of still being alive."

Ciel's smirking face gradually reappeared: toothy leer first, much like a famous cat's. _But for how much longer, little girl?_ the simpering nobleman purred, azure-blues half-lidded and acerbic in nature. He straightened from his pondering pose, choosing instead to prowl around the room: twisting and twirling as if in slow motion. His performance was pointless; she could see quite clearly how he steadily inched towards his butler.

How futile. He'd never make it all the way over. Not before—

"Get back over here."

The phantom(hive) froze, snarled; despite himself, and in spite of both obvious and active resistance, his booted foot took a grudging step away from his oblivious goal, as if he were being pulled forward by an invisible cord. It was Skye's turn to sneer.

A porcelain nose scrunched. Mismatched eyes blazed like enchanted fires. _Don't let this fool you, you whorish brat_, the deceased earl hissed, coal-gray locks fluttering as his anger gained life in the physical realm. Unfastened trinkets shifted and shook; the curtains billowed outward, as if caught in a breeze; an insubstantial inkiness dyed the center of the room, hovering like mist where the ghost-child stood. Or perhaps the fog was the young boy himself, for as his tantrum played out, his outlines became a peculiar, fuzzy mess… _Whether you acknowledge it or not, your power over me is weakening. _

"Is it? I would disagree," Skye hummed, bored. Her hand fell with a _smack_ upon her dancing makeup kits; the plastic packets stopped mid-wiggle, stationary once more. Child's play. The curtains were no more difficult; a single thought was all it took to steal the air from the flapping lace… but some problems were not so easily dealt with. From the corner of her eye, she could see her butler gawking— foot half-extended, assuming her previous summons had been directed at him, but retroactively distracted by the visible smudge of shadow that had appeared over the ivory carpet. The sight made the girl's stomach clench… but she ignored it in favor of a tinkling laugh. "I'd say my power is growing."

_Really?_ The vapor evaporated, the magic ceased; the demon executed a bizarre double-take; and for a full minute, Ciel was whole, visible, and smug again. _Do you think so? Then why can I act so independently, now? _he inquired, arms crossed and head angled._ Why can I venture 'round so extensively, so frequently? _A pause, a lilt—emphasis in the form of innocent, mocking, and entirely-cruel curiosity. _Why can I exist in the same room as Sebastian?_

For once, the gibe hit home. Instantaneously, like a sniper's bullet— teeth clenched, knuckles whitened, Skye's sapphire jugular bulged and throbbed; the droplet upon her fingertip swelled, burst, and cried, trickling down her alabaster index as a warm, liquid ribbon.

And thus, within milliseconds (as was often the case when the two chanced to meet), fortunes reversed and moods flip-flopped, as easy and often as a rotating coin. Face up, Ciel; tail up, Skye— it was now the boy's turn to laugh, and his aura calmed as his companion's became as black as a winter midnight. Her extended finger— still dripping miniature rubies— twitched at the sound of his glee, folding carefully back into its brethren.

From within the frame of the looking glass, the younger teen continued to mock his 'replacement.' _Why do you act so surprised? _he asked, perching himself on the edge of the vanity. _You noticed the contradiction, didn't you? After all, I told you before that I wouldn't appear if Sebastian was nearby… _Ciel cooed, swaying this way and that—tipped forward, hands entwined, and head tilted in a blatant show of contempt._ Not for any reason on my part, of course— but because you would not allow me to. You thought that you could keep him to yourself. And at that point, as I was still firmly anchored and dependent upon your… well, let's call it a 'spirit,' shall we?… I was compelled to obey your wishes, ill-founded and deplorable though they were. But a human body can only contain _one_ soul… and it must be compatible with their flesh. _

_BAM. _The girl's newly -formed fist forcefully found the tabletop; jars of perfume and compacts of color chinked and chattered as they seized atop the wooden surface. Silk-covered shoulders stiffened; a hunched back arched over the shivering makeup. A perspiring forehead found iced relief against the silvery mirror. Yet, for all the signs and signals of mental collapse, of utter defeat, the lovely lady _smiled_: a knowing grin teasing the corners of her pink lips, growing as her lacquered charcoal lashes graced the vanity with the softest of butterfly kisses.

Well. _That_ was certainly an enigma. Perhaps she had misunderstood the gravity of his warning? Frowning faintly in response to the sneer, Ciel brought a curious finger to his cheek, corporeal form riddled with transitory static. His own lips pursed, pulled— formed words that may have been a tease, may have been an explanation. But their meaning would forever remain a mystery to the girl, for she heard none of them… did not even realize that her incarnation was speaking, what with her gaze adverted. Nor did she have any reason to assume that she had missed a portion of their conversation. At least, until—

"…young mistress?" Perplexity. Doubt. Doe-brown orbs darted, left and right and back again, from the prostrate form of his tamer to something that only he could see… and only partially, as that. Like some half-formed silhouette, dancing as candlelight in his peripheral vision. "Did you… say something?"

Sebastian. The young woman bolted upright, spine snapping straight one vertebrae at a time; she could hear each bone popping, serenading the formation of goose pimples. And as the devil waded in his own uncertainty, all manner of confusion fled from Skye. In its place, an animalistic sort of realization set fire to her mind, as feral and wild as the preservation instinct.

"_What did you do_." It was no question. It was a _demand_.

_Oh dear._ In the world of glass, the little boy lifted a demure, elegant hand, covering his mouth as Victorian decorum dictated— an ironic gesture of shock and regret. He clearly felt neither. _It seems that things are happening rather faster than I had expected. I apologize, my dear. I don't mean to keep secrets, but it seems that you are losing your ability to perce— _

A motorized buzzing— not from anywhere within the room, but echoing from the deep, deep caverns of her cherry-tinged ear, an inch behind the hardened line of her jaw… balancing on the ledge between eardrum and brain. This time around, Skye could see the boy talking in her vanity: mouth forming letters, then words, then sentences… but for all she silently strained, the faintest whisper could be heard.

At least, not by the girl.

The demon by the door, on the other hand, was looking for all the world as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. He stood straight and tall, yes, and made no sound nor asked any questions… But his flesh had lost all color (save the violet bags that had long-since become permanent fixtures on his hollow face), and his russet eyes were _alive_, searching and straining and all but spinning in their sockets—

Without warning or bodily assistance, the gilded mirror exploded.

"Young m—!"

"_What do you think you're doing, you little brat?!_ Who do you think you're fooling?!" Incensed and fully furious, Skye whirled swiftly 'round— shards of diamond dust adding glittering accentuation to her every movement. Angry feet stamped, sending crystal into the air; straining hands knotted in (what seemed) absolute nothingness; blood oozed from far more than just her wounded index finger. "You think you don't need me anymore?! Wrong! _I am the one who no longer needs _y—_!_"

A gasp.

The girl faltered, stumbled— seemed, for a moment, totally lost. Half a second ago, the boy had been… but now, he…? And there had been no reaction to her declaration: no snort, no jeer. Was Ciel really…?

Just as abruptly as the tantrum had begun, it stopped: grappling arms fell; a heavy head drooped. Greasy tendrils of loosened curls tumbled over clavicle and neck, curtaining all but motionless legs. Soundless tears of garnet plunged, splattered, blossomed outward. The carpet now bore roses. For a full minute, the young woman hung, immobile— like a broken china puppet tangled in its catgut strings.

The hard leather sole of a black patent shoe fell upon a shard of glass. It splintered like a spider web, then crumbled into an ashen powder.

And Skye laughed.

Head thrown back, eyes jammed shut, long lips reaching up, up, up as if hoping to touch her pierced earlobes. The sound caught Sebastian off-guard; he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to back away. But he had his duties and his pride, and what sort of butler would so fear his mistress? Accordingly, Sebastian veiled his own desires (as he was wont to do), and instead offered his convulsing mistress a calming embrace, murmuring comforts as he approached.

The gesture was unappreciated. Despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, the demon could not thwart natural bodily reactions; he flinched quite noticeably when amused giggles became virulent snarls, and virulent snarls became red-welt scratches upon the backs of his hands.

"_Don't touch me!_" the girl spat, lashing out an angled arm. Then, just as rapidly as she'd thrust it forward, she reeled it back—as if worried he'd try to hurt it. A distressed viper, riled and ready for an onslaught; as he watched, Skye's body distorted— bent like a contortionist's, poised as if coiled to strike. He'd never seen her so agitated, so out-of-control, so… "I don't need you. I don't need him. I no longer need _either_ of you! _I don't need you!_"

Silence.

And in that silence, the proclamation rang. It rang with power, finality, purpose… it rang like an _order. _Sebastian blinked, utterly taken aback, as his bemusement reached soaring new levels. "'Either'…?" he repeated, features creasing with concern. "Young mistress, what on earth are you—"

An unearthly chuckle, whispering and warbling through the shadows of the room like a wisp of audible smoke. _Confident, are we? To assume that you no l—r need Sebastian's h—_

"This isn't about 'confidence,'" Skye snapped, spinning away from the anxious pandering of her butler. She readjusted her gauzy foppery, raked manicured fingers through her disheveled locks; the back of her hand smeared drizzles of blood upon her parted lips, painting them as if with any other brand of makeup. "This is about self-preservation."

A rustle of finery, a delicate sigh— the young woman returned to her velveteen throne, dexterously crossing her lily-white ankles. "Besides which," she continued coolly, examining her nails as the befuddled demon stared, "Sebastian's usefulness has run out. This being the case, I'm afraid he and his position must be… terminated."

_Termin—?_

Like a desert mirage, Ciel wavered in the distance, his body illusory and useless; like a malfunctioning computer, his horrified features flickered in and out of existence, snowy then clearing, snowy then clearing, somewhere on the edge of her vision. Directly before her, Sebastian— the complete opposite of the tiny earl in every metaphysical way— still managed to match his old master in expression.

"What are you talking about, young mistress…?"

The beautiful girl scoffed, face lined with disgust and disdain. "Really now, must you even ask?" she grunted, as if even discussing the matter was beneath her. "I'd have thought it quite apparent. For a time, Sebastian, you were a valuable pawn due to your abilities. But that, unfortunately, was ages ago, back when we first met. Look what the passing of six years has done to you! You're listless, and have no energy. Your strength, speed, and endurance are next to non-existent. You black out, act spacey, and sleep half the day! You perform your duties as a servant decently, I suppose, but they are no longer anywhere _near_ the level of perfection that I have come to expect. And, on a more personal note…" Skye stopped, snorted; picked an invisible fleck of dust off the round of her breast and flicked it into oblivion. "Well. Let's be frank, shall we? I have never been keen on the way you look at me. Still, after all that I've done! No matter what I try, you stare at me as if you're trying to see _through _me… or find someone else lurking in my body."

Sebastian said nothing. Did not argue, did not deny, did not defend. Instead, he stood in a brazen hush… and for a spell, his mistress did the same. But all the while, she continued to watch him, accusingly, from beneath the curve of her lashes.

"…fine, then." With no further warning, the girl returned to her feet. Began pacing— halted— lingered beside the lace curtain, peering into the twilit night beyond. "I understand. I finally understand everything. And now that I do, I feel that— in some extraordinary way— I should thank you," she persisted, informal and distant, as she pondered some insignificant riddle of the outside world. "For without your unusual transmutation, I might not have noticed my own."

In the blackened window, her faded likeness shone: angelic, contemplative, and inhumane in its splendor. A lovely picture, to be sure, marred only by its backdrop: behind the crown of her head, Ciel was wordlessly screaming. Upon catching her notice, his exploits increased tenfold— his hands began slicing, eyes began pleading, head began shaking in an exuberant expression of denial.

Skye readjusted the curtain, blocking his face from view. Then she hummed, and flashed her butler a cheerful smile.

"What is a demon, after all, but the dregs of humanity?" she pointed out conversationally, making her meandering way back towards the devil. And this time—Skye was amused to note—he took the tiniest of steps backwards, instinctive and startled. Her callous grin lessened. "I apologize. Perhaps that was not the most polite way to address such beings. Nevertheless, that is what they are, correct? At their core, demons are nothing more than the twisted husks of humans, imbued with all mortal sin and corruption. And while they have no souls, these powers act as something similar—animating them, giving them personality and rank within the dominion of Hell."

_What are you—_

Rosy nightgown flaring, the scarlet-splattered teenager glided softly over to her servant, dark delight increasing as Sebastian's back collided with the waiting wall. To her far right, she could see Ciel fuming, pale features flushed with fury and panic as she reached out a thin hand, gingerly dragging it down the clammy expanse of the demon's face. Though the devil made no sound, his chest was rising and falling frantically; his eyes reflected the muted terror of a caged animal.

"Haven't you ever wondered about this before, Sebastian?" Skye inquired sweetly, even as her sultry gaze remained, locked and taunting, upon her incarnation's shrieking spirit. "What would happen to a demon if that power—their '_soul_'—was to be drained out of them?"

_Don't be _stupid_ you insufferable t———nd there are absolute truths in th—!_

The butler swallowed; she could feel the muscles of his throat working beneath her ginger touch. "I… cannot say that I have ever given the concept any thought," Sebastian breathed, the response both hoarse and bitterly cold. It made his mistress shiver with pleasure.

"Well, now that I've brought the idea to your attention," Skye cooed, free fingers tracing meaningless patterns upon the front of his velvet vest, "tell me, what do you think? If you were to lose your demonic powers, would you become a human? If I were to gain them, would I become a demon?"

A pause. If the servant had yet formed an opinion in regards to his charge's hypothesis, he did not voice it. And it hardly mattered in the end, for the girl was almost immediately distracted— gaze glistening in validation.

"Oh my." With a histrionic inhalation and a malicious moon of a smile, Skye's doodling digits came to a sudden stop over the left half of the devil's chest. Two fingers became three, three became four, and then—with unnecessary force—, the young woman folded her entire palm against Sebastian's fabric-covered flesh. Her eyes flashed with impish satisfaction as the butler's own face fell. "Is that—? It _is_! My dear Sebastian, you've not just _lost_, but _gained_ in my presence! How marvelous. But oh, feel it race… not healthy at all. Tut tut, no no. Why this speed? You can't be out of breath… you hardly seem excited…"

Sharpened talons cut into the servant's wobbly chin; with a rough yank, nose met nose and heated—

"Could it be that you are frightened, my—?"

But for all the dramatic tension that this moment could have caused, the attempt fell flat— ended on a note of puzzlement, rather than the fear that Skye had hoped she might cultivate. And she, as per usual, had the bane of her existence to blame.

"_What do you think you're doing?_" she growled, redirecting her rage-slit glare. For, at the very last moment, Ciel had somehow managed to force his way into his reincarnation and butler's entangled embrace; his own hand had coiled around Sebastian's head (affectionately covering his eyes), while the other had made a grab for the girl's exposed neck.

Skye dodged the strike with sickening ease, and instead engaged herself in a stare down with the earl.

"And what will such a gesture of comfort accomplish?" the young woman mocked through her sneer, even as Ciel readjusted his attack, roughly pushing her backwards. She could have avoided this strike, as well, but out of twisted amusement allowed the boy to worm his way between them—like some sort of ghostly blockade. "Do you _honestly _think that you can protect him?"

The infuriated nobleman bared gritted teeth, arms extended outward as if to shield the helpless demon. _I warned you to leave him alone. _

"You also warned me that, someday, he would realize he doesn't need me," Skye retorted frostily, looming over the smaller spirit as if in preparation of a physical assault. Her swirling eyes narrowed— half in a show of heartfelt loathing and half in an attempt to find the other's disintegrating outline. "This is really all your fault, you know. If you hadn't brought my attention to the facts, we wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have decided to do him in before he finished me. And you know that, don't you? That's why you're trying to save him. Ha! Too bad your precious knight can't see you anymore. I'm sure your display of nineteenth-century chivalry would have tickled him as much as it does m— _what are you looking at?!_"

The startled butler jumped—jolted as if struck—, as his tilted head snapped violently upward. As if a caught and guilty child. "Nothing," he choked, trying vainly to disguise his stupefied tone in its usual shroud of innocuousness. "Nothing, I just… I thought I saw… of course, there's no way…"

It was a fruitless effort. Despite his mastery of masks, even Sebastian could not erase the look of sheer astonishment that had made a hostage of his visage— the dazed blush, the quiver of his lower lip. Nor could he hide the way his distracted eyes kept darting downward, disbelieving, as Ciel quietly beamed, victory in his gaze.

Skye watched this display of reunited camaraderie with a glare as hard as diamond. All good humor had left her, now. "…what does it matter," she then heard herself mumble, though the mantra was far too low for the ears of the others. "He never saw me to begin with, anyway. And soon, I will no longer see either of them… for our roles will have completely reversed."

At this, the translucent earl glanced upward. Whether he had actually heard what she'd said or had merely timed the motion well, Skye could not be sure… nor would she ever find out. For again, he was speaking—words that seemed… oddly _gentle_, to match the peaceful smile that had painted his alabaster face— but she could hear nary a thing. All she knew was that his hand was on—then in— then _consumed_ by Sebastian's heaving chest, and that the rest of Ciel's fragmenting body was quickly following suit, and that the butler was watching (no doubt, he was _watching_) with eyes full of wonder and mouth full-agape.

The tender exchange made Skye's writhing insides _boil._

A fragile fist slammed into the whitewashed wall; crumbles of dust and plaster flaked upon the ground. But it was the noise that garnered Sebastian's attention, even as his raised hands found and clenched around the weird warmth now-emanating from his resurrected heart. At the sight of such compassion—as if it were an invitation— the girl's free hand moved to rediscover that sacred heat, as well… though her thoughts about the incident were far more sinister in nature than the butler's own.

"…dear me. That was an interesting interlude, wasn't it? Though hardly a waste of time— he certainly made things easier, didn't he?" Skye murmured, in a tone so light and flippant that it triggered warning bells in the butler's mind. "I was wondering how to rid myself of him. I suppose the phrase 'two birds, one stone,' would apply rather well… though I'd never use a stone. That would be far too uncivilized."

As she spoke, five spidery fingers creaked into motion—mechanical at first, but gradually finding grace, rhythm. A soothing sort of stroking, meant to relax its recipient. But the only thing the girl's calming gesture succeeded in doing was setting the servant further on edge.

"Young mistress…" Sebastian hesitated, hands slipping downward to find balance against the wall. She could see his knees were trembling… "What is going on—?"

Skye smiled. A familiar smile, a malevolent smile: folsom and mordant with both lids clamped shut, as if to try and hide the fact that the expression could never reach her eyes.

The smile was his own.

"Simple, Sebastian," the young beauty explained, pushing herself to her tip-toes and decorating his cheek with a nibbled kiss. "I'm answering your question."

"Question?"

His incomprehension was acknowledged with a blithe, merry nod; Skye fell back onto her naked soles with a waft of spider lily perfume. And in that instant—trivial though the detail surely was— Sebastian found himself completely captivated by the scent that made up the oil's compositional base (or perhaps it was the odor that radiated from the girl's very flesh). For, if he concentrated, the creature could smell the faintest trace of chrysanthemum, of burgundy poppies… of the most addictive opium. Why did that surprise him? It made nothing but sense, the demon thought, for she was the worst kind of narcotic—killing him even as he begged for more. And _oh_, his head felt so _heavy_…

"Don't you remember?" his young mistress was prompting, voice a cloying, audible syrup. At some point, wholly without his notice, she had drifted closer: breath teasing his neck, tongue tasting his ear… "Once, you asked me what I was. At the time, I couldn't tell you, for I was undergoing a metamorphosis… But I can, now."

His stare flitted downward; hers drifted up, lazy and seductive through the gaps in her lashes.

And through the curtain of ebony fringe, her irises flashed an incandescent shade of vermillion.

It was only recently that Sebastian had begun to understand the concept of "fear:" the terror that made his new heart thud faster, the dread that enticed his faux-mortal innards to contort; the horror that added a sheen of sweat to his skin. And it was that strange feeling—that raw _panic_ that he had never known in his past life at Phantomhive—that forced the single word from his lips:

" …_devil_."

Skye giggled, tinkling and sweet. "So you finally realize," she congratulated, deriving all sorts of satisfaction from the gaunt, paste-green countenance that her own face now shadowed. And so the darkness grew: an exuded, feathery blackness that was both known and entirely alien to the butler. Beneath the girl's perpetually-steady palm, Sebastian's overactive heart was pounding again, louder than before—thrumming within her ears, within her bones, within her soul… vibrating in the place where her own had once resided. The sensation made her _sick_.

"Now, let me ask you in turn, Sebastian…"

The twisted hybrid leered, fist drawing silently back from her servant's vested breast— pausing to hover portentously over her cocked and haloed head.

"…what are _you?_"

_SQUELCH. _

Sebastian's answer was a look of wide-eyed shock— a stagnant, graveled wheeze— a slippery trickle of crimson down the chin…

Then he collided with the carpet, his perforated corpse joining his discarded heart upon the bloodstained floor.

**XXX**


	7. Saving

**Disclaimer: **For the last time, no!

**Author's Note: **Final chapter of "Old Habits." Thank you for reading, everybody! (I know it can't have been a wholly enjoyable experience, haha. XD;)

**Warnings: **SebaCiel. Death everywhere! A brief reference to the second seiyuu event.

**XXX**

**Old Habits**

**XXX**

_I must admit, I am surprised, Sebastian. _

The world was black.

_I would have thought that—after all of these years—you would have come to understand the soul in far more explicit terms._

No… no, it wasn't the world. The black was internal; the black was his own doing. He could feel the skin flaps that blanketed his faux-mortal eyes— the flesh atop his cheekbones as it ticked. It annoyed him. (Why wouldn't it stop? Why couldn't he see? Oh, that's right; he needed his pupils to do that.) Ashen nose scrunching in a show of self-exerted will-power, the butler slowly pealed his heavy lashes back …

_But then, do humans ever truly understand _their_ food? _

The world was a fuzzy gray.

_I suppose I cannot judge. However, I can explain._

And then the world was white.

_The soul is a fluid thing, filling one's body as water does a jar. This 'water' can be tainted, it can be clean… or it can be a combination of the two_.

But it was not the world that Sebastian was used to. Surely the human realm hadn't changed so drastically since he had closed his eyes? (Why _were_ his eyes closed, anyway? Certainly he hadn't been sleeping. But then…? What had…?)

_When a Contract is made between a devil and a human, a bond is created that attaches the human's soul to the devil's… well, 'spiritual equivalent.' This metaphysical connection is the reason that a human can exert such force over the demon, and why the demon can always, always find the human. But there is more to their link than just this. So much more… _

The world was white.

_Once their Contract is complete, and the demon consumes the soul which had controlled him, the two ethereal entities _blend_._

Just white. There was no color, no texture. No up, no down; no sky, no ground. On into forever, there was nothing but the empty pallor of the virgin hue, and all he could do was _stare_ at it.

_But such a thing should only happen post-consumption. Until then, the covenant does far more than bind—it also serves as a spiritual dam. Despite their showy façade and allusions to 'tug of war,' both sides recognize that they struggle for 'more power' in vain. The game, after all, is fixed: the human will control the relationship until death. After that…_

His eyelids creaked up and down a second, agonizing time; more black, followed by more white. His right index finger convulsed. Oh, good—he _could_ move.

_Yes, the average human soul is like water. And the devil's corresponding essence is like oil. Within contracted humans, the two liquids mingle and churn: always connected, yet always separate. True diffusion only occurs once the human… well, no longer exists. Then, like all foods, their soul is absorbed by the demon's digestive system._

Yet, despite this discovery, Sebastian simply continued to lay there. Arms out, legs extended—prostrate and spread as if nailed to a crucifix, his chest rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling as someone spoke in a careless drawl, the lazy tenor of their dialogue in perfect harmony with the soothing rhythm of the butler's slow breaths.

_However, if said demon were to later expunge that same soul from his body… _

The devil frowned. Faltered. His head cocked, his abdomen tightened, his spine ached— then arched. One, two, three; with a mechanical grace, each vertebrate snapped and curved and pulled (like), pulled (on), pulled (strings), yanking Sebastian upright.

_The human known as Skye did not merely possess the remnants of _my_ soul, Sebastian. From the beginning, she has also been a product of your own. Our essences were already partially combined by the time you decided to create her… and though the piece of yourself that originally resided within her started off small, it grew. Pollution spread. _

His vision swirled at the sudden motion… which seemed odd, since there was nothing _to _swirl. No matter the direction, all he could see was _white. _Perhaps, then, his eyes were not swirling— perhaps it was that his head was swimming, and he was mixing his symptoms.

_You assumed that she inherited my Contract, did you not? You were correct… but also horribly mistaken. The bond remained between you, but without the initiation of an _official_ covenant, there was no spiritual dam to moderate the flow of your energies; your 'soul' was allowed to intermingle freely with her own, and she took advantage of that. Keep in mind, due to the unusual circumstances of her birth, her soul bares some unique qualities. It has never been made of 'water'—instead, it is some strange hybrid, a _mix_ of both species, capable of absorbing and utilize 'water' _and_ 'oil.' She fed off of you unconsciously, at first… but the darkness within her resonated so powerfully with the 'brethren evil' in you, she was quickly able to make it her own. She became more and more corrupt. You made it so _easy. _And by the time she realized that she was slowly eating away at _your_ soul, she was more demon than human, and no longer cared._

Mix. _Mix. _The word inspired a scowl, a niggling throb within his brain—

_It may also interest you to know that, at first, Skye and I _were_ one in the same. I did not realize my own existence as an individual. But a single creature cannot be two separate things— one being cannot host a human and a demon. Psychologically, as well as physically: a demon's body isn't made to withstand the functions of a human; a human body is not built to assimilate astral energy. The more of you she absorbed, the less compatible she was with me. Thus, I—the uncorrupted portion of her soul— became self-aware. And because the human vessel can only contain so much 'water' before starting to spill over, I was soon able to detach myself completely… _

—and then he could _see._

In an instant, the neurons within Sebastian's mind switched on; his eyes lit up as the memories returned: twisting and twining and shooting through his synapses, extending outward from the letters _M-I-X. _Within the theater of his mind, dreamy images of a young woman and a ghostly boy formed and collapsed and twined into vine-like ropes, reaching out and taking hold and wrapping 'round his skull and _dear lord, _was he _dead? _

Momentarily panicked, the devil whirled about—

And behind him, lounging languidly upon some sort of invisible throne, found a winsome thirteen-year-old with a pretty smirk and a leather-patched eye. Five thin fingers cupped the curve of the boy's porcelain chin; the other five drummed an idle tune against an unseen armrest. Svelte legs, supple and sinfully smooth, crossed at the knee; his stockings were crisp, his ribbons looped, and his expression one of poignant amusement—his deep navy finery an emblematic reflection of his nostalgic air.

For a full minute, the devil could only gape. His unnerved expression added another tooth to the noblemen's lengthy leer.

_Come now, Sebastian_, the child chided, lashes lowering in a languid display of exasperation. _How long are you going to sit there in a stupidity-induced silence? You're lucky that I can't fire you for such a spectacle. What a disgrace you are to the Phantomhive name! _

The goad passed unnoticed; the seated butler was too taken by shock to even process the jibe. Rather, all of his strength and resolution was instead channeled into a single, quivering inquiry…

_Young master…? _Sebastian whispered, only partially aware of the bizarre way that his speech resonated— as if spoken underwater, or in a grotto… or in the depths of his own subconscious. (For in reality, this place was—) _Is that really you? _

Ciel grinned— just as he had in life! A perfectly symmetrical curve of the lips, simultaneously emanating scorn and fondness— and tilted his tiny head, silken strands of coal-gray tickling his rounded nose and pallid temples. _Must you ask?_ the elegant earl jeered, hiding a condescending snicker behind his lifted palm. _Surely you are not so senile that you can't recognize your own master. _

Yet, for all the mockery in the boy's lilted voice, his verbal disdain was accompanied by the fainted hint of delight. Of pure elation. And that was all that Sebastian could hear, buried though it was in the biting disparagement of his retort. It sent a _fire_ through his body… A soothing warmth, like that of (dare he say it? Dare he…? No, he couldn't admit—) the summer sun,traveling up and down and all throughout his humanoid form, loosening his joints and rearranging his features.

_Forgive me, _the butler apologized— ritualistic in his gestures— as a sardonic simper formed upon his face. _I recently suffered a nasty bout of head-trauma. _

The boy snorted. _You _did_ hit the floor rather hard, _he agreed, erecting himself with a graceful push. Sebastian instinctively did the same—regrettably, sans the grace: clambering to his feet with a sway and a groan— for no servant would ever dare dream of remaining on his bum when his lord was seen to be standing. _My goodness, how the mighty have fallen… You realize, of course, that you allowed yourself to be defeated by a girl? _Ciel taunted, hand on his waist and his hip thrust out. His snobbish patronizing animated his beautiful features in a way that Sebastian had never thought he'd see again…_ I'm disappointed. Some devil you are. _

His servant responded to this affront with a cheerless chuckle, head drooping in a mixture of exhaustion and shame. _That's just it, young master,_ he professed, his tone heavy with a weary sort of acceptance. _I don't think I _am_ a devil, anymore_. _The young mistr— that girl has long-since siphoned all of my demonic powers from me. Certainly the fact that I am here, now, in this strange limbo, conversing with you is proof enough that she has succeeded in turning me into…_

A scoff, full of disgust and annoyance, served as both interruption and answer. _Don't be ridiculous_, Ciel spat, rolling his ocean-colored orb. (In the cobwebbed recesses of his memory, Sebastian could recall a time when he considered such gestures to be the height of rudeness; a time when he had spanked his charge for succumbing to such vulgar acts, only to kiss his tender welts better…But oh, his little lord was speaking now, and he didn't want to miss a syllable of it—) _You more than anyone should know that there are certain rules that cannot be broken. Things lost that cannot be returned. Laws made that cannot be changed._

As if only just remembering these realities himself, the vehemence in Ciel's voice abruptly bled away, his irritation petering as his vocal rampage continued. The boy's gaze lowered, and his gloved hand twitched atop his infamous patch… but the gesture was a sign of weakness (even hundreds of years had not been enough to eradicate _all_ of the nobleman's pride), and so he swiftly set his arm against his side, transforming his expression into one of somber stone.

_The laws of nature are a good example of this, _he persisted, indifferent and coldly casual as Sebastian watched— gawped— _stared_, apparently torn between feelings of bewilderment, disbelief, and the fervent desire to close the foot of space that lingered between them, but not knowing how. And all the while, Ciel divulged the answers to questions that, at one time, had seemed _so important_… Rather, had seemed important up 'til that very instant: _Someone born as a human will always perish as a human. Someone born as a demon will live evermore as such. And someone who has died is meant to stay dead. _

The butler flinched at this last point; he could hear the rebuke in Ciel's tone. All the same, he protested— not the latter parts, but the former. _But young master… I— I am no longer what I one was, _Sebastian objected, arms flailing and expression warping as he tried fruitlessly to find the words… to somehow explain the unexplainable. (And he had once been so _good_ with words, too…)_ I have— had— a heartbeat. I… I _feel _things. Things that I knew before, but are somehow _stronger_ now. Purer, too, as if untouched by evil. Emotions, I think they are… Like— like when I look upon you, here. _

Driven onward by bafflement and anxiety (though not, he was bemused to note, by the boy to whom he was speaking), Sebastian's fingers crooked— curled and uncurled— as if in some misguided attempt to pluck the proper expression from the space around him. As if wild gesticulations would somehow make his master understand. _My chest feels so tight… and my insides twist, like some kind of poisonous snake. My eyes are burning— searing like infernos blaze behind them, and my parched throat _aches_. They are all symptoms of the same illness, I know; of an illness that I feel like I once knew the name to. But now…_

Ciel listened to this bout of uncharacteristic loquaciousness without ever once betraying his thoughts to the demon. Instead—after the agitated Sebastian had quieted himself— he arched a single, slender eyebrow, and pried for further information. _Did you ever feel anything like this for me when I was alive? _he asked calmly, as if wholly unconcerned.

The devil knew the answer to that question before it was even uttered. Even still (for appearances' sake; for what else did he have, at this point?), he stalled for a moment, as if thinking things through… But in the end, he succumbed to miserable nodding. _Something like this_, he admitted. _Though I called it 'lust' in those days. _

_And what do you call it now? _the boy prompted.

This time, Sebastian's hesitation was genuine. _…I have long since been aware of the human emotion called 'fear,_' he murmured, eyes downcast. _But it is only recently that I have begun to feel_ _it, myself. And I must confess, young master, that to give a new name to what I had once assumed to be 'lust' frightens me more than anything else ever has. _

…_I see. _

The response was simple, succinct. There was no condemnation in the retort, nor frustration, nor impatience. And while Sebastian was equally unable to detect 'happiness' in the reply, he did catch a telling twinkle in Ciel's deadpanned gaze— a transitory tenderness that told the demon (without a shadow of a doubt) that his master understood.

For a long minute, there was nothing but white.

_Sebastian_.

The demon automatically stiffened. _Young master? _he returned, tenor and visage playing host to a matching brand of curiosity. But this new mask of perplexity remained unnoticed by the child, for he had already busied himself with the task of avoiding his underling's stare: face slanted downward, cheeks a rosy pink, tense fingers ceaselessly twirling a ring of ghostly sapphire around and around his thumb.

…_humankind has long-since believed in a ludicrous notion known as 'soul mates,'_ the boy eventually decreed, his voice fully deprived of the nerves that his darting eyes made obvious. A deep breath, a shallow exhale; with some effort, Ciel stalled the shuddering of his hands. Another sigh—another dip into his well of centuries of accumulated willpower— and he forcibly locked their apprehensive gazes. _Do you know what that saying means?_

Devil, human, or something in between, Sebastian was still Sebastian—and Sebastian never lied. _I am afraid I don't, my lord, _he declared, sounding suitably sheepish. It was still an embarrassment, this new found (humanity?) humility; he had never before been unsure of _anything_. _Would the young master care to explain? _

Divulged as if of its own accord (that treacherous piece of anatomy!), Ciel's mouth quirked upward, forming the tiniest of true smiles— flustered and lovely. _The term refers to two people who are meant to be together. Always, _he clarified, a single hand lifting to clasp over his heart. Subconsciously, Sebastian mimicked the motion; despite the gaping wound that Skye's previous attentions should have inflicted upon his person, the butler felt no hole in his chest. Rather, the skin beneath his suit felt sturdier than it had in a long while… _Soul mates are a single person contained within two bodies— they are of the same mind. They can never be replaced or forgotten… by anything or anyone. _

The fist fell. The words lingered.

The demon considered his master's monologue for a spell, wetting dry lips with a flick of his tongue. So many things he wanted to know, so many questions he wanted to ask… But he somehow knew that he could only pose one, and so he went with the most pressing of the lot:

…_do you believe in this conception, young master? _he asked quietly, the query catching on a hint of… _something_… that lingered in the back of his throat. (His throat that ached more than ever, now, so that it felt like the muscles beneath his flesh were trying to separate from one another, collapse upon themselves.)

Silence—deep, telling, profound. The kind of silence that made one's ears pop and ring, it was so unbearably _loud_… And then his master giggled, wry with wit. _Of course I don't,_ Ciel returned easily, nonchalant and impassive as he flicked a flippant hand. As if his speech had been nothing more than a brilliant piece of acting. As if the concept meant nothing to him. _Do you not listen, Sebastian? Soul mates are two _people_. And you are not human, no matter what Skye has tried to make you believe. _

Sebastian started. (So many years, and _still_ the boy managed to surprise him!) But even in the depths of his stunned stupor, he recognized that the child's point was excellent: well crafted and well executed, while simultaneously telling _just slightly more_ than the speaker might have wanted—, as was his favored lord's habit. But still, it left the elder male wondering…

_If that is so, _the devil whispered, _then what are we, do you think? _

The question hung heavily, contradictory in the concurrency of the preexisting knowledge and faltering uncertainty that it conveyed. Ciel's initial response was one of evident astonishment— but the hardened lines of alarm soon vanished from his face, replaced by the cotton softness of affection that no amount of sarcastic sneering could conceal… though the boy's attempts to hide his emotions was unmistakably half-hearted. _Who knows? _the earl returned quietly, accentuating the response with a shrug of delicate shoulders. His torso trembled as if with contained (anguish) laughter; he shook his head, amusement evident. _Who knows, indeed…_

_But such postulations are luxuries we cannot afford, Sebastian_.

With no further warning, the child's trailing murmurs cut themselves off; Ciel straightened, expression staid, as his tone switched from one of lighthearted rambling to the solemn decrees of yesteryear. _There is no time to waste. You may not be human, but you are hardly at full power. Even _you_ cannot last without your heart for very long. Nevertheless, a little energy should be all it takes to wake you from this pseudo-coma… and how fortunate that you should have a nice meal right here. _A hint of friendly cynicism colored the flat drawl; fragile arms extended outward, as if in preparation for an embrace. _Come_, the earl then prompted, face set and fingers flexing, urging Sebastian forward._ Bolster your strength. I may just be leftovers, but beggars can't be choosers. _

But Sebastian was not begging. Sebastian was not asking. Sebastian was not even _interested_. Sebastian was, instead, exuberantly shaking his head, bones squeaking and tendons squealing as he squeezed, squeezed, _squeezed_ his fists, eyes jammed shut and voice full of infuriated incredulity. _Young master, I— I don't understand! Why would you do this? _he demanded, brow furrowed and crumpled like a fleshy representation of the maze of turmoil he felt within. _Why would you willingly separate yourself? Why would you come back to me to be consumed, when you could have escaped? You're no longer bound to… to _her_, and you fulfilled your Contract with me. You could have—_

_Done what? _Ciel interjected frostily. All traces of good humor disappeared as abruptly as they'd materialized. _Traveled the world? Haunted someplace interesting? Perhaps tried to ascend to the afterlife? _

The contempt in the nobleman's tone made his opinions on the matter obvious; wisely, the demon chose not to respond. And for a full minute, the boy regarded his servant without speaking, as well.

…_God has no use for me, Sebastian_, the little one sullenly reminded, his voice a muted breath. _Isn't that why we met in the first place? He cares not a whit for what I do, and there has never been a place for me in Heaven. Nor will Satan ever come for my soul, for another devil has already made their mark on me. This is the punishment of one who has made a covenant with a demon: to be forever barred from the realm of unending pleasure, as well as the realm of perpetual pain. _

Cobalt eyes— as dazzling and dark as the (emptiness) universe they reflected—gazed out over the whiteness with an air of omnipotence: the undying King on an unearthly chess board.

…_or, at least, that is what I have come to recognize as the theoretical set up of my suffrage, _Ciel corrected, as the most peculiar expression that Sebastian had ever seen lit upon his master's countenance. How odd: the boy was grinning (blatantly ironic in the midst of his amusement), but all the while, his aura throbbed with misery. A misery so powerful, it dyed his passionate preaching the blue of despair… _But is theory ever echoed in reality? No, never— for I know far more of Heaven and Hell than ought I should. God forsook me, and Satan can't have me, but still the skye opened for me. And I know. And I hate. And I want nothing to do with either Paradise. For what pleasure could Heaven offer, _he scathingly posed, _if I could never again see the face of the one that I care for the most? And what torture in Hell could be more painful than to watch that same precious face fill with love for someone else?_

Ciel tossed his pretty head, bangs curtaining his narrowed gaze as he forced his revelations through grit teeth. _No…_ he slowly whispered, as if reminding himself of his own fortitude, _I would rather return to dust than remain associated with that harlot. I would rather crumble into ash than continue to live in this limbo between worlds. And I…_

A pallid chin lifted—so small and frail that it looked as if the merest touch might break it, though it was already wrought with wobbles… _I would rather have died on that damned altar, _Ciel growled, iced pools of sapphire glistening and glinting and gradually melting in the heat of that same (dare he say it? Dare he…? No, he couldn't admit—) summer sun, slipping down his dusky cheeks in the form of tinted, salty pearls, _than be forced to spend eternity watching you from afar. _

A threshold.

An audible threshold. This assertion was the verge of something—something new, something frightening. Something that he could no longer stop or control or ignore. And the weight of this realization floored him; for a moment, the butler merely stood in a staggered daze: wide eyed, slack-jawed, unable to cope with the confession that… he couldn't mean… did he really feel…? _Yo—? _

_Sebastian. _There was no vacillation, now. No fear or discomfiture: only conviction, fact… and the smallest, saddest smile. _Living or dead, _you_ are all that I have. _

And that was all it took.

The Truth echoed as a jibe, a command, a prayer, a rebuke— a reminder. An oral key, forcibly unlocking the memories that Sebastian had tried to repress: the regret, the loneliness, the confusion… a myriad of questions, clouding his judgment and muddling his mind; endless days of denial, countless nights of debate; one thousand and one frozen Decembers, each marked by a cake and a wish as the wind blew out unnecessary candles:

"I want him back."

And maybe it was because of this strange plane of white. Maybe it was because of Ciel's trickling teardrops. Or maybe (just maybe) Skye had been right, and demons _were_, at their cores, the brothers of humans. Maybe they, too, were capable of feeling and expressing authentic emotion— provided, of course, that other, more explicitly devious traits were not around to repress their buried morality…

Maybe.

Yet, it was a 'maybe' that Sebastian was more than willing to believe in. For it was the only explanation that the creature could think of… the only rationale that he was comfortable using to justify how the sight of his master's tilted, wet face made his entire torso _burn_. It gave empathetic meaning to the way that _his_ heart hurt when the spirit forced another grin. And when the boy spoke…

(Sebastian swallowed.)

When the boy spoke…

_Besides, _Ciel sneered, hiding a sniffle with an imperial sort of coughing, even as he struck an regal pose: looming (or, at least, _trying_ to loom) over his demon as he had so many, many years ago,_ as the lord of Phantomhive, it is only natural that I should be able to assist my servants whenever they have need of me, correct? _

When the boy spoke, it gave Sebastian a legitimate excuse: a logical reason to metaphorically cling to as his entire body lurched forward, clinging physically to his young master.

_Seba—?! _

_I missed you_, Sebastian hissed—heatedly, recklessly, the admission ripping itself so violently from the back of his throat that it came out as a frantic snarl. And the frenzied declarations only grew more forceful, gushing forward and flowing like syllabic tears, raining upon crown and temple and forehead and ears as black-swathed arms tightened, tightened, _tightened_, never wanting to let go… _I didn't understand it. I hardly understand it now. But despite everything—through it all!— you are the only one who I have never been able to forget. I longed for you, young master. I yearned_ _for you. I _needed_ you! And so, I had to try… I had to try… I _had_ to._

The woebegone words continued to pour, bitter and ashamed and full of disgust. And all the while, Ciel simply nodded— sagely and silent, like he'd known all along— as he returned the earnest embrace, moistened cheek falling to rest upon his butler's trembling shoulder. Contentment radiated; on his lips was a sigh and a teeny, tranquil beam. For the first time in eons, both men felt as if they could _breathe..._

It was, without question, the closest that either one would ever be to Paradise.

But nothing lasts forever.

…_you really must go, Sebastian, _Ciel soon mumbled, even as his fingers clenched around fistfuls of worn fabric. Sebastian could feel the earl's small form shaking, though his stately voice remained perfectly steady. _Or else you'll truly die. And what would happen to me, then? You wouldn't dare condemn your master to an infinity trapped in oblivion, would you? _

There was a threat in the question, intentional and curt. And _oh_, the audacity of humans— of _this_ human, of this child! So presumptuous and arrogant, even in the face of total destruction. An uncharacteristic snigger wedged itself in the back of the devil's throat. _I am but a humble butler, _he nonetheless retorted, and he could feel himself smiling—albeit against his will—as the habitual expression tumbled from his tongue. (And he meant every word…) _Use me however you desire, my lord. _

The invitation evoked a nod; Sebastian could hear the fine, downy locks of moonlit slate brush against his breast—feel the near-imperceptible heat of Ciel's forehead as it came to rest against the curve of his throat.

_This is an order,_ the petite nobleman informed—the familiar phrase no more than a whisper, tickling the sensitive skin of the demon's jutting clavicle. _An order from your only true tamer. As such, I expect you to abide by it until the very End of Days… and beyond, if at all possible. _

_Speak, and it shall be done,_ Sebastian swore, loosening his grasp on the boy just-enough to look down upon his face—to watch his pink lips purse, to see his button nose scrunch. To pay witness to the corners of his eyes as they wrinkled with joy (nearly invisible to the inexperienced observer, as subtle as any other form of happiness… but _he_ always knew; no, the child could hide nothing from Sebastian)— and to catch a final glimpse of Ciel's exposed, enchanted gaze: patch falling, iris glowing, pupils widening as they filled with a pleading sort of sincerity.

_Never leave me again_.

And with that, the earl vanished: faded into nothingness, as if he'd never been. But the warmth of his body remained—in fact, became more and more definitive, flowing as astral energy around and around and inside, sinking into Sebastian's very _core_….

Alone in the whiteness, the devil fell to his knees— choking on (remorse; agony; half-muffled, gut-wrenching _sobs_) the stagnant air as he bowing to an invisible master, his now-empty arms constricted around himself.

…_yes, my lord. _

**X**

**X**

**X**

The world was black.

But this time, it was not a trick of the eyes.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAARH—!"_

Without pause, without pain, Sebastian felt his lashes flick promptly open. There was no heaviness in his body, no weariness or doubt. His mind was equally unburdened: for the first time in years, he felt clear-headed, calm. _Devilish_. There was no weakness or waffling or wondering, despite having found himself in the midst of a paranormal void… Rather, he accepted this reality with the confidence of one who'd always been aware of the inevitably of such a situation. To that end, he regarded the abyss with a pleasant leer: the sparks of magenta lightening that sizzled past his pale torso, like jagged daggers of plasma; the swirls of feathery onyx that stormed around his head, blinding and black… the clambering tendrils of ancient magic that blossomed from his cauterized abrasion, their greedy searching serenaded by the unseen screeching of a banshee.

"_WHA— WHAT IS THI—?! GET OUT OF MY HEAAAAAAD!"_

From somewhere beyond—cloaked by a veil of misty fog and hungry shadows— some anthropomorphic being contorted. Writhed. Rolled and shrieked and thrashed about, beating their own cranium against the unforgiving ground. Through the curtain of shade, the devil could smell fresh blood…

Within the central chambers of Sebastian's sensitive ears, the hollow _creak _of frail bones echoed: the screeched protests of a body as it strained against forces that threatened to destroy it from within.

_Someone born as a human will always perish as a human. Someone born as a demon will live evermore as such. And someone who has died is meant to stay dead. _

The demon sneered as his eyes flashed crimson.

"I feel like I should say 'good morning,' young mistress," Sebastian greeted conversationally, his voice hardly discernable over the caterwauling of his companion. "Yet, it seems as if I have been asleep for mere minutes. Tell me, did you happen to see where you dropped my still-beating heart?"

Skye's response was another yowl, followed by a chorus of nails scraping up and down raw skin. The stench of fluids became stronger and stronger as the heavy, repetitious _thud_ of a skull-on-carpeted concrete grew louder.

The butler pushed himself upright, brushing invisible motes of dust from his favored uniform. Overall, he thought he looked rather well off for having been so recently eviscerated: his white undershirt now bore a magnificent hole (though his chest, thankfully, did not), and his suit coat was slightly stained, but it was nothing a few minutes in the laundry room wouldn't fix. "Really, young mistress," he chastised as he straightened his rumpled foppery, "you are being quite rude. One shouldn't respond to simple questions with screams. But ah, look here! I needn't require your help, after all."

With an amiable hum, Sebastian bent low to pluck up his slightly-squashed heart, pealing a stray hair or two from the slime of its surface. It felt like a fossilized sponge, concurrently soft and rigid. The deep purple organ was no longer thrumming; it sat, cold as amethyst, in the palm of his gloved hand, as ineffectual as it was worthless.

Yet, concealed within the cavernous recesses of his chest…

_Thump-thump._

"…I suppose I no longer need this heart," the servant muttered to himself, an expression of supercilious boredom laying claim to his inhumanly handsome features. He tossed the organ once— a light upward lob, as if preparing to throw a baseball— and then graced his suffering charge with a folsom beam, his perfidious eyes lightly closed. "Perhaps the young mistress would like to borrow it? I have doubts that she has one of her own."

The jibe was cutting, in ways both figurative and unexpectedly literal; as if a verbal knife, the crack sliced through the curtain of clouds, helping to clear the path between the demon and his charge. But wait, it wasn't just insults that called forth this transparency: the longer Sebastian spoke, stood, _breathed_, the more the smog faded… like an inverse tornado, spiraling back into the demon. What started off as a cloying miasma gradually became an inconvenient haze, then a strange gray vapor, and finally, a mere spray of smoke, all of which was eagerly swallowed by the devil's rejuvenated aura.

Within seconds, the tempest subsided. But in its wake lay a hapless victim.

"Well, well. How interesting." Sebastian's upper lip curled back in revulsion, even as his vermillion gaze flashed with evident amusement. "It looks as if the china container was really made of brittle clay. You're about to break, I'm afraid… they'll be no saving you."

The idiom was lost on the battered once-girl, whose only talent now was in lying like a bloated corpse upon the floor. It was a striking sight, to be certain: planes of pristine flesh were now nothing more than a memory— reality was marked by raked lines of self-mutilation and a sallow shade of yellow. Flakey and gummy and stretched beyond repair, her tissues had been inflated by powers incompatible with the human body. But still, a human body it was: decorated in long bolts of this unpleasant wrapping. Such foul drapery extended outward, as well, enveloping her sporadically seizing limbs; crooked appendages, stuck in abnormal angles, lay sprawled about in ways that were not necessarily healthy— the bones twisted and snapped and useless in their sheaths of muscle. But it was her face that was the true masterpiece: simultaneously acting as pallet and painting. Spider-webbed vessels bulged beneath her skin, leaking shades of green and violet; gray bruises encircled her shattered nose and tattered lobes, coloring her temples black; dull navy eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, their vibrant hue dulled by a sheen of milky gloss.

Blood drizzled from her sunken sockets—her inner ear— her open, panting mouth…

"How did it feel, young mistress?" the butler asked coquettishly, looming over his whimpering charge. His elegant lips slithered speedily upward, forming a silvery centipede smile— creepy-crawling even after taking hold of his otherwise-angelic face. "I am referring to the bombardment of demonic energy that you so recently experienced, of course. I suppose you did not realize what would happen if you 'broke the barrier,' so to speak. I suppose you did not realize that I still had so much power left within me. I suppose you did not realize how weak and pathetic you truly are…"

With the edge of his shoe, Sebastian nudged the side of the girl's lolling head. His heel trapped a tuft of gray hair as he did so; the thick lock was pulled clean from her skull when her face flopped to the right. And whether it was the pain of this loss, or the pressure of his foot, the devil wasn't sure… but either way, something grabbed the girl's attention: made her blank eyes bulge and her left hand flail, straining and reaching and twining 'round his ankle, frantic and desperate.

"_Sebastian?!_" she demanded—loudly, hoarsely, her crackling voice stained by the bewilderment of being unable to see, unable to hear… "_Sebastian, is that you?! Sebastian…! Help me—!_" A pink-ruby tear dribbled down her fissured cheek, vanishing within the cracks of her mortal mask. Another soon joined it. Then another. Weak, knobbed fingers tugged in anxious emphasis, wrinkling the cuff of his pants. Oh dear… Now he'd need an iron, as well.

"_Sebastian?" _The delicate digits began yanking more insistently, the voice of their mistress quivering with fear. Why hadn't he responded? Why wasn't he moving? _Why wasn't he helping? _Skye's panic increased tenfold when, with a curt jerk, the demon detached himself from her hysterical embrace. _No— _"_Sebastian, _please_— I… I order you…!_"

The command gave the butler pause.

"…you 'order' me?" Sebastian repeated, blinking serenely. Rather than turn to leave, as had apparently been his intention, the spectral creature stooped to a low crouch—knees on the floor, back slightly arced, bent forward as if in a bow. A single, gloved finger curved beneath the girl's scruffy chin… "And what right," he then whispered, in a tone so soft and dangerously sweet that it left one feeling sick to the stomach, "have you to do that?"

He released her without further warning, chuckling as her jaw burst against the unyielding floor. More squalling was his reward. And in the midst of these responding howls of agony, the preoccupied Skye failed to notice the feel of a hand upon her own— the missing weight of a stolen adornment. Without remorse, the devil slid the intricate ring of silver and sapphire off of the girl's mutilated thumb; he instead lifted it upward, cradling it carefully against his broad chest.

Sebastian then stood, free of qualms and entirely poised. "I am afraid I must be going now, young mistress," he informed composedly, wholly unperturbed. "Do not worry; you will not be alone for long. I recently took the liberty of contacting the police— they should find you shortly. However, I apologize: I have been so tired, as of late, that I never got around to confiscating certain pieces of… evidence. You may find yourself in a great deal of trouble, very soon."

He offered the living cadaver a debonair grin, mindless of whether or not she could see it. And as if this was some sort of premeditated cue, the fluttering lace curtains on the far side of the room began flashing blue and red, blue and red— outside lights simultaneously tinting and illuminating the crocheted fabric.

"And now to take my leave," the demon murmured to himself, standing in a flurry of ghostly midnight feathers. Shadows without casters made stains upon the walls; a suit of fitted wool melted into a garment of taut leather— a lazy alteration marked by the metronome _tip-tap_ing of sharp-healed stilettos across the matted carpet. A luminous gaze of incandescent garnet cut through the gloom, flaring visibly as realization occurred.

"…it is a bad habit to want the unobtainable," Sebastian mused as he strolled, relishing his transformation from 'a devil of a butler' to simply 'a devil.' How long had he been trailed by the swishing of swallowtails? It all seemed so superfluous (without his master) in such a modern age. "Yes, it is a bad habit to want what you cannot have… but a _worse_ habit not to notice what you already possess."

Ebony talons clacked and clicked against the prized treasure in his grasp; the tinny sound caught his notice, and he once more turned his attentions to his young master's ring. What to do, what to do? With ginger grace, Sebastian lifted the trinket towards the heavens, regarding it as he pondered…

"It seems that I had what I desired from the start…"

Below, shouts were ringing; the locked door was thrown open with a _blast _and a _bang_. The crackle of a loud speaker—the cocking of multiple guns. The whole house shook as a dozen heavy footsteps pounded up the wooden stairs… Well, it seemed inadvisable to use the front entrance, at this point. With an apathetic shrug, the demon instead began meandering towards the wall—melding into the mundane darkness as a sudden thought occurred to him.

With his eyes still set attentively upon it, Sebastian deftly slid the precious ring onto his own hand, binding it to his being. Permanently affixed, as was His soul and His memory. Between the round of the devil's knuckle and the joint of his second-to-last finger, the azure gem shone like a star, brilliant and bright against the black of his body: a miniature Polaris; a tiny, guiding light.

In that instant, Sebastian knew that he'd nevermore lose (Ciel, the token) his way.

"…I shall make a point not to forget that again."

And then he was gone.

**XXX**


End file.
